


The Truth and Nothing But

by The Last Good Name (thelastgoodname)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Non-consent, PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastgoodname/pseuds/The%20Last%20Good%20Name
Summary: Her parents and Killian just want Emma to open up a little, and surely the means justify the ends.After all, that's the point of fairy tales; the good guys always do the right thing in the end.





	The Truth and Nothing But

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Emma slams the door of the bug and would have stormed into the station, but Snow White is standing in her way.

 

“Emma, honey,” Snow says.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma snarls. The pain in her palms from where her fingernails press in might have been the only thing keeping her from losing her shit at the moment. Probably was the only thing, in fact. That and the red haze that covered everything. “How many times do I have to say that?”

 

“Emma, I just want to—“

 

Emma isn’t about to let her finish that sentence. Snow White, with her fucking righteous—this was a hangover, Emma knows. A remnant of the stupid potion, and she should just hold her tongue and smile and let Snow, let her mother, be nice and kind and supportive. No matter how not nice, or unkind, or completely lacking in support her actions might be. “I know what you want to do, and you know what? I’ve had it with people wanting to make my life happen by making my choices for me!” Or she could go with that. Emma throws her hands up and pushes past Snow towards the station. She might have body-checked Snow a little harder than necessary, but at least she isn’t holding the baby. Or wait, maybe it was a bad thing she isn’t holding the baby, now that some of those feelings had been over-shared.

 

The sainted Snow White is not about to let her go, despite Emma’s obvious anger. “Are you sure—“

 

“Am I sure what, Snow?” Emma shouts. “Am I sure the fucking drugs have worn off? Am I sure I really feel violated by whatever the hell you were trying do? Am I sure I don’t want to see you or talk to you or listen to any self-righteous bullshit for a really fucking long time?”

 

Snow cringes.

 

Emma is done. Completely done. Magic was fucked, the people who were supposed to be on her side kept fucking up, Henry and Regina both thought she was a total asshole, and she couldn’t even argue with that last one. Done. If leaving Storybrooke had at all been a possibility, she would have, but for the time being, she was going to camp out in the clock tower or something. In the woods in a tent. Anywhere but here.

 

Suddenly, Regina’s nicknames for her parents, and for Hook, seem like not strong enough. Emma slams into the station and locks the door in Snow’s face. She can hear her pleading outside, but the red crowds out her vision, and her palms still sting, and she wants to be anywhere but here, talking to anyone but these people. These people who thought that a gentle nudge into her psyche was a good idea. These assholes who thought they knew her, and thought that all she needed was to open up a bit.

 

Which just went to show that they don’t know anything. Suddenly, Emma’s anger evaporates. Her whole body aches and feels empty at the same time, as if the anger was the only thing holding her up, holding her together, and without anything else holding her up, she slumps against the wall and sinks down to the floor. It's a familiar position, and for a moment Emma wishes for a closet, for the modest protection of three walls and a door just like all the other times she had sought out somewhere safe to try and breathe through the shit-storm that was her life. But she's bigger now, and her knees are less flexible, and eventually she shifts a little to release the pressure. She tries the deep breathing exercises that everyone seems to suggest, and the tightness in her chest eases a tiny bit. Not enough to go away, or even to make her feel better, but a bit.

 

For all that meeting Henry had opened her up to the wonders of loving and being loved, sometimes being alone is a lot easier.

 

She has no idea how long she had been slumped on the floor when someone who was not Snow White rattles the door. Emma glances up: Regina.

 

Just when her life couldn’t get any worse, here was Regina to twist the knife. If that asshole was going to drug her, with the assistance of her sainted parents, why the fuck would he chose somewhere public, somewhere people were going to see, and hear, and where the story was going to eventually filter to Henry and his mother?

 

What was wrong with these people?

 

“Emma?” Regina calls and rattles the door again.

 

“It’s locked,” Emma mutters.

 

“I realize that, Ms. Swan. I would like you to unlock the door.” It's her patronizing voice, but at least it holds a smidgeon of respect rather than pity. Like Emma is too stupid to know what Regina wanted, rather than too damaged to know what was best for herself, unlike her parents. Or Hook. Fuck.

 

“No,” Emma says.

 

“Ms. Swan.”

 

“No. And I’m not coming out, either.”

 

“Ms. Swan, a little public humiliation is no reason—“

 

“Fuck! Why does everyone care about what I said? It was a truth potion. They wanted the truth, they got it.”

 

“I’m not sure I understand,” says Regina.

 

“I expect it from my parents or from Hook, but even you can’t be this stupid, Regina,” Emma says.

 

“I don’t—“

 

“So you just want people rifling around in your head whether you want them there or not? Making you do things, making you not do things. Pulling out shit that you don’t want to think about, shit that you don’t want to deal with, shit that’s better left buried? And then telling you, over and fucking over again, that it’s better this way, it’s better if you can’t control what’s going on, better if someone else does whatever the fuck they want because you don’t fucking matter.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s what—“

 

Emma snarls, “Look, you know as well as I do that sometimes, the past is…it’s crap. And there are two ways to deal: your way, and my way. Your way ends up with dead people and curses and more mosquitoes than anyone should ever have to deal with because Maine fucking sucks, and my way is denial. Ignore it. Pretend it’s not there until it isn’t there anymore. And unlike your way, my way doesn’t end up with any dead people.”

 

“I don’t—please talk to me.”

 

Emma screams into her hands. The one person who might have understood clearly doesn't, and this isn't going to get better. Not any time soon.

 

“Just go away. I’ll call you about Henry when I’m ready to deal with the rest of the world.”

 

“You think I’m going to just leave you here?”

 

“Yes. I do.”

 

“Ms. Swan. Emma.” Some shuffling then, and the slide of fabric across something smooth—the wall. Is Regina sitting down? On the floor? Emma would have lifted her head and looked, but that sounds too much like opening up the conversation again. Which was not happening, not if Regina didn’t get it.

 

“Emma,” Regina continues. “I am not going to leave you alone in this state.”

 

“It’s not the first time,” Emma mumbles.

 

“What was that?” Regina barks, sounding furious, or scared, or both. Loud and demanding, either way.

 

Emma stays silent. The serum or whatever might have wore off, but evidently the truth-telling part of things was still going strong. Not that Regina deserves to be told anything personal, above and beyond the truths Emma wasn’t capable of keeping to herself. The ones that all of Storybrooke were probably now sharing and dissecting.

 

“Please let me in,” says Regina.

 

“You have magic. You don’t need me to help.”

 

“I think today has involved quite enough of people doing things for you that you might not want done already. I am not leaving, but I also will stay here in the hallway until you are ready for me to come in.”

 

God. What a fucking nightmare. Regina Mills, social worker. Must’ve taken classes on how to deal with traumatized citizens or something. In preparation for the inevitable breaking of the curse? Probably not, Emma thinks; even that first year, Regina had done everything she could to deny the possibility that the curse might break. So where’d she get this…?

 

“Oh,” Emma says, breathes out, stunned. Regina knows. Regina knows because Regina knows. Knows in a way that Snow and David never could, knows in a way that Hook—Regina knew Hook. Did he? Was he the person who made Regina so fragile?

 

“Was it Hook?” Emma asks.

 

“Was what Hook?” Regina says.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“No,” Regina says, “Not that. That wasn’t Hook. He did other things that were—not as bad. Nothing is that bad. But things that I didn’t expect. Things that I couldn’t prepare for.”

 

“Who was it?”

 

Regina doesn’t say anything for a long time. When she does, it’s almost enough for the bile in Emma’s stomach to rise again, for her to hunch over and heave. Almost, because, Regina says, “My mother.”

 

Emma wants to speak, but she can hear Regina breathing on the other side of the door, and what words are there? Emma’s mother is horrible enough, but Emma’s met Regina’s mother, and there are worse monsters than the ones who abandon you. But evidently she’s not done, because after a long pause, Regina says, in exactly the same tone of voice, as quietly and perfectly and flatly, “The King.”

 

Emma thinks, was this payback? Was that why? For so long, was this karma? The King, her grandfather; the Princess, her mother. Was that why?

 

She doesn’t ask. She can’t. It’s a stupid question, and Archie, and Ms. Shaw the case worker, and Mrs. Boateng the one good foster parent in all of New England would all tell her, if they could, if she asked, that none of it was her fault, that she didn’t do anything, that she wasn’t responsible. Of course she wasn’t. She was ten. She was fifteen. She was twenty-two. Not her fault.

 

Except. She could have fought back. She could have screamed, or fought, or done something. She could have tried.

 

She could have kept her mouth shut.

 

She didn’t even try.

 

Not then, not now. She could have tried to keep the words in, to stop them from pouring out. About Hook’s horrifying comments and come-ons, about fucking Neal—both of them—about replacements and being left and it was her fault. Of course it was her fault, because who doesn’t adopt a blonde, blue-eyed baby girl? Those things are like crack in the adoption world. Those girls. Them, not her. Because there was, is, something so fundamentally wrong with Emma Swan that no couple ever spent $30,000 to adopt a smart, engaged blonde toddler, a bright-eyed infant, a darling beautiful baby girl.

 

Those people could see what she never had. What was wrong with her, why she invited the worst of the worst to take advantage of her, how she fucked everything up, even her forever family, how she abandoned the people who need her most, the helpless baby who didn’t even have any of the advantages she had, with his dark hair and dark eyes and stupid little boy no one wants boys.

 

How she betrayed the people she loves.

 

They knew. And now she knows, too.

 

Karma’s a bitch.

 

“Emma,” Regina says. It sounds a little frantic, and Emma blinks, trying to figure out why, and that’s when she realizes her face is covered in tears and she's making this keening noise, this desperate needy sound and she can't stop can't stop can't stop and Regina says something, Regina is talking, and Regina demands, “Emma,” and Emma whispers back but it hardly comes out and when she tries to drag in a breath to speak again her throat clogs and she's gasping and the world is closing in and Regina is saying her name and Emma can't move can't stop can't think—

 

* * *

 

The world goes away for a bit.

 

* * *

 

 

Snow is there. Snow is on one side, and Regina’s on the other side, and they’re both holding her, rocking her, whispering, “It’s okay, let it out, we’re here.”

 

They’re here.

 

Snow is—

 

“Where’s Neal?” Emma rasps. Her voice sounds funny. It comes out funny, the feeling on her throat like maybe she didn’t actually say the words.

 

“David has him,” Snow whispers.

 

Oh. Snow is here without the baby. Snow is here because—“Why are you here?” Emma says. Whispers, chokes, whatever. It comes out, maybe, it must have, because Snow tenses and breathes in but nothing comes out, not like Emma who can’t keep her stupid mouth shut and

 

“He hit me. Did you know he hit me? He hit me and he ripped my shirt trying to get me to—it was my favorite purple shirt, I loved that shirt. It was the only thing I brought with me when I ran away. He tore it, and I still forgave him.”

 

“Emma,” Regina says.

 

Snow doesn’t say anything.

 

"God, I don't even know why—he was supposed to be safe, he said we were going to go somewhere fun, and warm, and he said he loved me, and it's not like he was the first one, what did I know? How was I supposed to know what a good guy looked like?"

 

Regina's mouth is pursed, and too late Emma remembers that Regina knows what it's like to love someone who loves you back with their fists. Or open palms, in her case.

 

Her mouth opens again. Maybe the magic is gone, but the effect isn't, and now that she's started and they're here for more, she can't stop. “It’s gone, I know it’s gone I can feel it, can you always feel magic? I could feel it when I drank it, the cocoa tasted weird and I can feel it now, but I can’t feel it—I mean I can. But I can’t stop it. Did you know the first time I was just a kid and he was so persistent and he made me feel wanted and I liked that he liked me, because no one ever liked me. But that wasn’t even the first time did you know that Snow?” Emma turns to Snow and hauls in a huge breath.

 

Snow’s jaw is gaping and her eyes are full of tears. Like she never imagined any of this.

 

Emma wants to punch her.

 

“Emma,” Regina says, quietly, soft and calm. Like you would talk to a frightened animal. Like Ms. Shaw, the first time they met.

 

Emma was ten.

 

“I didn’t know,” says Snow.

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Regina murmurs.

 

It should sound bitter, Emma thinks, if it was the King. “It was the King,” she says. “Of course you didn’t know. You never know. You—the reason I liked you, Snow, is because you were so innocent.”

 

“I’m not innocent!” Snow objects.

 

Emma laughs, even though it's not funny. “Nothing bad has ever happened to you."

 

“My mother died!”

 

“I never had a mother, and hers beat her." Or worse. Regina wasn’t exactly clear, before, and God, if it was worse than just hitting—just nothing, but still. There are worse things, and Emma knows it, and Regina probably does too, even if Cora wasn’t that.

 

“My father died!”

 

“I had fathers I wished would die. I had fathers I wished I could kill. Mothers, too. Some of my mothers ignored me, and more of my fathers didn't, and it was all so fucked up that Hook feels like a homecoming. Like something familiar. I've been through this one, Snow, and I know exactly how it ends."

 

Regina is rubbing Emma's back, and part of her wants to flinch away—touching, always touching, even when she doesn't want it doesn't need it always hands on her body that aren't hers—but she doesn't. She stays where she is, stuck between Regina and Snow.

 

Emma says, "At least Regina killed her monster. One of them.” Emma looks at Regina. “You realize you’re my hero for that, right?”

 

Regina blinks and her mouth opens, her jaw drops, and Snow on the other side says, “She tried to kill me!”

 

Emma laughs again. It hurts and it’s not funny and this is one thing that she knows more about than her mother. “Only one person tried to kill you. Lots of people have tried to kill me and you don’t see me complaining about it.”

 

“Lots of—“ Snow says.

 

“I looked it up once, later. You can survive three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. A whole lifetime without sunlight. It doesn’t feel like surviving, but you can. Your body keeps going, no matter what. Even when you want it to stop fighting for you, even when you’ve given up already, your body just won’t.”

 

Regina inhales slowly, through her nose. Emma watches the nostrils flair, thinks about how Regina jumps sometimes, how she curls her hands around her neck or her stomach. Regina looks back at her, just as carefully, just as gently. Regina knows, and Emma is not alone.

 

* * *

 

Time passes. They watch each other. Eventually, without looking away from Regina, Emma says tiredly, “What did you think you’d find out, Snow.”

 

Behind her, still curled close, Snow White shifts uneasily. Probably tries a few times to say something, but nothing comes. "You're so closed off."

 

Emma snorts. Regina just moves her strokes from her back to her hair, so Emma takes s chance. She leans in, slowly, letting Regina have plenty of time to back away. Not that there's much room to do so, as close as they are to Emma, but right now, Emma can't take any more. She goes slowly, and Regina pulls her in.

 

The air is cold against Emma's back now, and Snow feels very far away.

 

"We thought—your father and I, and Killian—"

 

"It's a coping mechanism," Emma says. "Survival. Whatever. What you need to do to live another day."

 

Snow chokes back another sob. Her face must be a mess by now, but Emma isn't going to look.

 

Regina just keeps stroking Emma's hair.

 

"And you know, now that it's all out in the open, I'm not going to close it back up again, Snow. I hate that you named your kid Neal, and I always will; I'm disgusted that you think Hook is a good choice for me, and I'm not going to get over that; and honestly, your eternal faith that some people are good if they're just given enough chances is stupid and irrational. Some people will never be good, and it doesn't matter how many chances they get. You have to want to change, and some people just don't."

 

"Like Killian?" Snow asks, voice thick.

 

Emma shrugs. "Probably. I mean, he drugged me. That's not something the good guys are supposed to do."

 

Regina chuckles, and Emma can feel her body shake. "Another tale from the vault that I don't know about?"

 

"It's not the first time Team Good has dabbled in truth potions, no."

 

"Fuck me." Emma drops her head again and closes her eyes. "Look, Snow, I think it would be best if you leave like I asked you to, and we'll talk about this later. Maybe with Archie or something. Because I'm so pissed I can't deal with you right now, and I hope that's just the hurt and sadness talking."

 

"But you need—" Snow starts.

 

"I need not to be around a person who thinks that taking someone's consent away is in any way a good idea. No matter what the reason. No matter who served the drink.”

 

"Please, Snow," says Regina.

 

Snow leaves.

 

* * *

 

By the time they get to Mifflin Street, Emma is beyond exhausted. Regina starts a shower so hot Emma can feel it burning from across the room, and then slowly undresses her. Emma should feel self-conscious, should be worried, should something, but she can't. Doesn't. Isn't. Instead, she lets Regina push her into the shower and steps under the spray and lets the scalding water take care of thinking for her. Just for a minute. Just until the taste of the spell wears off her tongue.

 

She has no idea how much time has passed when the bathroom door opens and again and the shower door is pulled back. Regina reaches in and turns the water off. Emma notes enough time must've passed that Regina got worried, but the water never cooled off. Being rich is something else: never-ending hot water is an awesome perk.

 

She lets Regina hand her a towel, and does an adequate job of drying herself off, and then of getting dressed—Regina holds the pajama top so she can slip her arms in, and then the pants so all she has to do it step into them.

 

"Did anyone ever do this for you?" she asks.

 

Regina looks up, calm and respectful, even though Emma is half-naked and shivering in front of her. "No. Not when I was a child, nor when I was older."

 

"They should have."

 

"Yes."

 

"Thank you."

 

Regina smiles, and it says, anytime. Or maybe, you're welcome. Thank you, too, and I understand. Maybe even I love you, but Emma's brain skitters away from that one.

 

"Hungry?" Regina says out loud.

 

Emma shrugs. She expects a quip about her bottomless pit of a stomach, about her eating habits, something snarky and Regina-like, but instead Regina says, "That potion is notorious for disrupting normal hunger patters."

 

Emma nods.

 

"You'll need to eat anyway, though, so I made a light soup."

 

"Okay," Emma says, agreeably. The room doesn't quite feel real, even though her skin still tingles from the hot water, and it doesn't get any more real when she follows Regina downstairs and into the kitchen. If anything, sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of dumpling soup in front of her feels like a dream. There's a film over the room, and things are starting to go in slow motion.

 

Regina watches her eat in silence. When Emma finally puts down the spoon, the bowl not yet empty, she merely picks it up and cleans it. It's not until Regina bends over to put the bowl in the dishwasher that Emma thinks, this isn't normal.

 

So she says it. "Something's wrong."

 

Regina comes over and takes her hands. "Something is wrong, dear," and it's the most gentle dear Emma has ever gotten from anyone. She feels dear because of it. "Many things are very wrong," Regina continues, "and it's going to take some time for you to embrace everything that's happened today."

 

"What if I don't want to?" Emma expects Regina to get snippy again, but she doesn't. She stays quiet and calm.

 

"I don't think you've got a choice right now."

 

"Everyone knows."

 

Regina nods.

 

"I probably should talk to Archie. Or—are there any other therapists in town? Specialists?"

 

"No, I'm sorry," Regina says. "We could try to find someone else, close by."

 

"We?"

 

"I'm not going to let you deal with this alone. You wouldn't let me, after all."

 

"I didn't know—I didn't help—I probably caused just as much harm—" The words are stuck in her throat, and they press into her. The litany starts again—stupid, idiotic, dumb, useless—but then Regina speaks.

 

"Not as much. Never as much."

 

"I'm still sorry."

 

Regina examines her, and slowly, her face opens in wonder. Emma is transfixed. "Thank you."

 

Emma leans forward again, pressing her forehead into Regina's. Regina lets her.

 

They stand like that for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Emma wakes up still pressed against Regina on the couch. Regina is asleep, snuffling lightly. Emma wonders where Henry is, and then she realizes that Mary Margaret—Snow White—her mother—must've done something right in her life and picked him up from school and taken him home. Snow or David. Actually, David is more likely; somehow calmer, more respectful, the type to hug it out rather than go charging into a situation he doesn't understand.

 

Emma could use a hug.

 

Regina's breathing changes. Awake now, and more tense than she had been moments before.

 

Emma lets go, pulls her arms back to wedge them against her body. There's not a lot of room, but maybe enough for Regina not feel trapped. Emma's the one pressed against the back of the couch, between Regina and the fabric, but it's the most comfortable she's been on waking that she can ever remember. The echoes in the back of her head simply aren't there. After yesterday, she's shocked.

 

Regina tries to turn over but slips; the look on her face gives it away before Emma can feel her go, and she reacts without thinking, reaching out for Regina again. Regina reaches out for Emma herself, and they end up gripping each other's shoulders, Emma pressed back against the couch and Regina clinging to her. Gravity is barely on their side, so Emma just tugs at Regina, bringing her closer and safely back onto the couch.

 

"Not what you expected when you woke up?" she says.

 

Regina tenses again, but Emma just holds on tighter.

 

"I'd let go if I didn't think you'd land on your ass," she says. "I'm sorry if this is bringing back bad—"

 

"No," Regina says, not letting her finish. "No, it's rather—"

 

"Rather?" Emma prompts, when Regina trails off.

 

"Nice. To be held with the intention of helping, instead of hurting."

 

Emma sighs. "You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

 

Regina says, "After everything we've been through, after the last few years, do you really think I believe you capable of hurting me?"

 

"Well," says Emma. She's hurt Regina unspeakably, and they both know it.

 

"Anymore," Regina qualifies. "You couldn't possibly hurt me except in the ways that people who care for each other hurt each other even when they don't mean to."

 

Emma breathes that in. People who care for each other. They care for each other. They are on the same side. She and Regina are together in this, as in so many things. "Yeah," she says hoarsely. "But I don't even want to do that."

 

"You will, dear. As I will hurt you. But for now," Regina says, and then turns slightly, burying her face in Emma's neck.

 

It's the reverse of the position they were in yesterday, and Emma relishes the feeling of being the strong one for a moment. After yesterday, the sensation presses against her brain, not quite fitting but feeling nice anyway.

 

They lie there, listening to each other breathe. Emma rubs Regina's back, the silk of her shirt soft and cold. They don't move for a long time.

 

When they do, it's not entirely willingly: the lock on the front door clicks, and there are teenaged stomps on the floor. "Mom!" cries Henry.

 

Regina pulls back first, looking over her shoulder, but to Emma's surprise, she doesn't move more than that. Henry and Snow immediately appear in the doorway: Henry eager to see them, Snow some combination of shocked, appalled, and surprised. The front door closes and locks, the sound blasting into the silence, and then David appears to complete the scene.

 

"Good morning, Henry," says Regina, calm and poised, as if she hadn't slept on the couch all night with a woman who had admitted to unspeakable crimes and betrayals in public the day before.

 

"Morning," replies Henry, and comes over to hug them both, leaning down and balancing on the edge of the couch.

 

Emma can feel his knee press into Regina, and Regina in turn press into her. The three of them are connected, in a row, physically tethered. It grounds her enough to say, "Good morning," to her own parents.

 

David waves but doesn't quite meet her eyes. Snow says nothing.

 

"We were going to get breakfast, but I wanted to stop by and invite you first." Henry is looking at them expectantly, and then he grins. "I guess you should go shower and change first, though, right?"

 

Regina strokes his chin and smiles at him, that special smile that Emma thought was only reserved for Henry. That might not be true anymore.

 

"Indeed. Actually, would you be opposed to eating here? I can whip something up."

 

Henry's grin gets even larger. "Stuffed French Toast?"

 

Regina laughs, light and clear. Emma's seen it happen before, from across a room, but feeling Regina laugh while she's in Emma's arms sends a jolt through her. It's like making magic with Regina, only without magic. Or maybe there is magic here.

 

"Snow, David," she asks, looking up at her parents.

 

David tries to catch Snow's eyes, but she's not having any of it, so instead he says, "Sure. If that's okay."

 

Emma shrugs a little; it must look weird, with her arms still around Regina, but he's probably right that they need to get started dealing with all this.

 

Regina is looking at her, though, and it's clear she's not convinced it's a good idea.

 

Emma tilts her head and stares at the ceiling. "I know I said my way was better, but clearly that't not true, either. So maybe I need to—"

 

Regina doesn't press her to finish, just drops a quick kiss on her cheek and then pushes Henry back so she can get up. Emma lays there listening as Regina climbs and stairs and Henry follows, talking the whole way about some movie they watched last night.

 

Emma doesn't look at them, but she can hear Snow and David enter the room and take seats at the couch opposite where she's laying.

 

David clears his throat, but Snow speaks first. "If you want us to leave, we will."

 

"Would you understand why I would want it?" Emma replies.

 

"Can you explain it?"

 

Emma braces herself more securely on the couch, but doesn't get up. Just knowing that they're here, both of them, that they still probably think there was nothing wrong with what they did, that someone is going to have to explain it them why they're totally fucked up—the red is building behind Emma's eyes again.

 

"We love you," says David. "We just want what's best for you."

 

"Like Snow wanted what was best for Regina?" Emma asks without thinking.

 

That's always gotten her in trouble, since her earliest memories: she speaks first and thinks later. This is not her story to share. They might be similar, but Regina's history with Emma’s parents is so much more fucked than even her history with her parents. Fucking fairy tales. "Never mind," she breathes, and sits up. "Forget I said that. No, I don't think I can explain it right now, but if you promise to keep your mouth shut, I guess you can stay."

 

As mad as she is, turning away her family, the one she searched for and hoped for and dream of for so long, is a lot harder than protecting herself.

 

Snow nods in agreement, and David says, "Of course we can, Emma. We won't say anything," and he mimes zipping his mouth shut.

 

She stares at him. "So how exactly did the curse work? Because I know that's not the thing in the Enchanted Forest—" she mimics the zipping motion herself—"but you know about it even though you were in a coma the whole time?"

 

David shrugs. "It's best not to think about it too hard, actually. I don't think any of us transitioned very well when we went back, after Regina saved us from Pan, no matter how much we'd like to believe that we still belong there. Living here, in this world, it changed all of us."

 

Not enough, though. Not enough that they bothered to learn about any of the values of this world, the things that go wrong here, or the things that need to change. Damn. She needs to talk to someone. Archie, if he's who's available.

 

Emma presses her face into her hands and tries not to think of anything. Tries to just breathe and keep her mind focused on that. It's easier today than it was yesterday.

 

"Do you want coffee?" Henry asks from the doorway. "Mom's getting everything ready in the kitchen, and she sent me to ask."

 

Emma stands up and straightens her shirt. "I think I'll go see if she needs help."

 

As she passes him, Henry reaches out with one arm and gives her a side-hug; Emma one-arms him back, and ruffles his hair for good measure. She's never done that, but so far he hasn't said a single thing about what he must've heard from yesterday or about what he saw this morning, and she's not going to push at all. Not if he isn't.

 

Regina is collecting ingredients and pans and she has a cookbook out resting in a stand when Emma walks in. She's changed and probably showered, hair perfect again. Emma hesitates for the briefest moment, and then thinks, fuck it and crosses the room to grab onto Regina for another hug. She needs it.

 

Regina turns around just as Emma reaches her and opens her arms. Immediately, Emma's throat is blocked and she can't swallow. She certainly can't stop the tears that well up. Regina cradles her head, and lets Emma cry. David likes to cradle her head, too. She has two people who will hold her and love her and ask no questions. Two people who will do anything to protect her. Who have done anything to protect her, offered up their lives for her. Her father, and now Regina.

 

She thinks back to the scar on his stomach, from when he was taking her to the wardrobe. Every time she sees him come out of the shower, or goes swimming with him, it draws her gaze. It's almost unnoticeable now, hidden under years of healing, but it's still there. Still evidence that her father loved her enough to take a sword in the gut to get her to safety. Too bad there was no safety on the other side.

 

Regina hums into Emma's hair, a tune that Emma doesn't recognize. She doesn't say anything, doesn't tell Emma it's okay, doesn't tell her to let it all out, just holds her and hums.

 

Eventually, Emma stops crying and pulls back. She tries to pull away. Regina won't let her, and hangs on to Emma, smiling into her teary face. Emma wants to wipe her face, remove the evidence of her tears, grin and pretend again.

 

"Emma, please don't. Anything you feel right now is normal, anything you need is okay."

 

"Who are you and why are you so well-adjusted?"

 

Regina smiles. "I wouldn't say that, at all. I'm just—"

 

Emma waits.

 

"—just treating you as I would have wanted to be treated."

 

"This is old stuff, though. It's been a million years, most of it, and the new stuff isn't anything different. Same old."

 

Regina nods.

 

And Emma suddenly hears what Regina is saying. Right, then. Do unto others. "Anytime, then," she says. "All the hugs you want. And anything you feel, about me, or Robin, or Snow, is okay. Right?"

 

Regina inhales briskly and spins back to the counter, letting Emma go.

 

"Hey," Emma says, and reaches out for her arm. But unlike a thousand times in the past, she doesn't keep her distance. Instead, she holds on to Regina's arm, and says, "Anything you feel, anything you need. I'm here. We're going to do this together. Henry deserves parents who aren't so fucked up, especially now that he's getting older."

 

Regina nods, still facing the counter.

 

"You've done a great job with him so far, but we both deserve to heal."

 

"His best chance?" Regina quips.

 

Emma grins. "You got it."

 

* * *

 

"How likely is it that this whole thing was just a dream?" Emma asks, after breakfast.

 

"Breakfast?"

 

"The potion, my freak-out, breakfast. All of it."

 

Regina suddenly goes very still.

 

"Not that I'd want it to be dream. The good parts were good, but the bad parts. The parts where I told my parents and everyone else stuff that was none of their business and let things get out of hand and didn't just keep my mouth shut."

 

"Was that important? Keeping your mouth shut?"

 

Emma sighs. "Can we be sitting down for this?"

 

Regina just looks at her for a long time, and then says, "Floor?"

 

Emma snorts. "Sure. Couch. Whatever. Just… if we're going to talk about it, we might as well be comfortable."

 

Regina nods, and the opens her mouth to say something. Emma isn't sure what that something is because Regina just shuts her mouth and leads Emma over to the living room couch, where they'd been the night before.

 

"What?" she asks.

 

Regina shakes her head.

 

"No, really, what?"

 

"I just…how are you this willing to discuss things?"

 

"Is it not,” Regina says, “should we not,” Regina says. Then she stops and stares at Emma, and her face is so open and raw and hopeful and helpless. So caring.

 

Emma breathes. “Of course we should talk about it,” she whispers, “but only if you want to."

 

"Then why would you ask?"

 

"How long has it been since you've discussed this with anyone?"

 

Regina inhales, nostrils flaring. “I don't know."

 

"Years?"

 

A short, sharp nod.

 

"Decades?"

 

"Some of it."

 

“How are you so willing to just jump in?"

 

"I'm not willing, so much as,” Regina says, and then pauses. “I trust you not to judge me."

 

"Never."

 

“After all, you didn't think I was a terrible person when I was the embodiment of ultimate evil. So it's fairly likely that you're not going to think I'm a bad person when I admit some things that may have happened to me."

 

"No, of course not,” says Emma.

 

"Besides, some of it you know already. Or have guessed.”

 

Emma shrugs. "I was gonna start with that."

 

"Fair enough," says Regina.

 

Emma slumps down onto the couch and pulls Regina down next to her. Regina goes with her willingly.

 

"So," Regina says eventually, just as Emma has started to rethink how comfortable the silence was.

 

"So." Emma doesn't know where to start, now that they're really going to discuss her fucked up life. Their fucked up lives. How did you get to be like this, indeed.

 

"It was important, wasn't it. Keeping your mouth shut," Regina says again.

 

Emma nods. "Like you wouldn't believe. Not just not telling the big stuff, but little stuff. The case workers didn't want to hear about it because they didn't have the time or energy with a hundred kids in a caseload, the foster parents didn't want to hear it because it takes effort and why bother when a kid's going to be gone in a few months, teachers usually cared but couldn't do much. And if other kids found out you were running your mouth, it'd just get worse for you. Or for everyone, sometimes. Ruin a good thing for someone else."

 

"What are we classing as little stuff, Emma?"

 

"I don't know. Kids stealing your shoes. Getting bullied in school. Locking the fridge at night."

 

“Locking the fridge?"

 

Leave it to Regina to hit on the important part of things, especially with her need to feed the world. Or at least the people she loves. “Yeah. That's probably where a lot of my issues with food come from. Mostly, when I remember being a kid I remember thinking about food. How to get it, how to get more of it, sometimes I even thought about meals I wanted to eat, things I wanted to taste that I hadn't even gotten before."

 

"Anything in particular?" Regina asks, rolling her head to watch Emma's face.

 

Emma doesn't look to meet Regina's eyes, but she lets her look. "Scallops. I'm wasn't even sure what those were, but I wanted to try them more than anything. Swiss chard. Truffles. Stuff in books, mostly. Mulligatawny."

 

"Have you have tried any of it?"

 

"I think one of the reasons I went into the work I did was because I could get a guy to pay for dinner first, and then bring him in for breaking his bail," Emma says. "Scallops are great, but I'm not a fan of chard. Truffles are… expensive for what you get. I don't know, I've never actually eaten them. Just the oil or infused or whatever. Mulligatawny is just soup, not that exciting."

 

"Was there anything you tried that surprised you in a good way?"

 

"I remember the first time I had grits, in prison. It's a southern thing, right, so if I'd been fostered in the south, I'd have had it all the time, but it wasn't until prison that I got a chance to taste it. And, you know, it's boring stuff, stick to your ribs, cheap, but I loved it. Still do. I've been trying to talk Granny into adding it to the menu, but I guess she's not big on change."

 

"We had something similar, in the Enchanted Forest, the part of it where I was from.”

 

“You’re not from the same part as Snow? Of course you’re not. God, I’m not usually this stupid, I promise.”

 

Regina smirks.

 

“I’ve never bothered to think about the Enchanted Forest as having politics and cultures and whatever. I know Henry’s book pretends that it’s all one big happy white family.”

 

“One big happy cis het white family?” Regina asks, the smirk much larger and there's a twinkle in her eyes.

 

Emma smiles back. “I see everyone learned a lot in Storybrooke.”

 

Regina pauses, and then her face stills again. “Not just Storybrooke. The Enchanted Forest didn’t have a lot of concepts that are commonplace here.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine. I guess Archie’s job description wasn’t really a thing either, was it.”

 

Regina hums in response, but doesn't speak.

 

“Well,” says Emma, “I guess we should probably take advantage of a world without fairy tales.”

 

“A world that recognizes that perhaps fairy tales are just as loaded as any other story,” Regina corrects.

 

“I could use a few more deconstructions of Cinderella myself,” Emma says.

 

“Well, wait until the next curse, dear.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
